


Rainbow Drabble Siege

by Parragone



Category: Tom Clancy's Rainbow Six (Video Games)
Genre: Alcohol, Concerned Friends, Gen, Locker Room, Mentions of alcohol, Multi, Tattoos, Thatcher has valid worries, discussions of sensory issues, falling asleep in food, just very bad at it, lion was a dumb teenager, mention of the events in Hammer and Scalpel, mute and dokkaebi are siblings, pulse and thermite are friends but are never allowed to chat, ubisoft can take secret softie kapkan from my cold dead hands
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:08:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23759608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Parragone/pseuds/Parragone
Summary: So I realized I have a lot of stories that don't necessarily connect to anything but I want to share over time so. This. this happened.Neat.Not all pairing centric, some are domestic, everything will be specified in the notes at the start of each chapter aaaand yeah this game is gonna kill me.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 38





	1. Mornings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Healing takes time, but laughter helps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone focuses on doc and lion fighting but y'all forget twitch wants to drop kick him too, let her in on the healin

It was painfully quiet when it was just the three of them.

Gilles had been called back to France for educational purposes, and Julien had been requested for a training exercise with the SAS. The result was that Emmanuelle, Gustave, and Olivier had to share the GIGN wing on their own. The lack of Julien’s jokes and Gilles’ peacekeeping tone was awkward for all three of them, even though they shared the space in a tentative peace.

Gustave had been the one to collect breakfast this morning, much to Emmanuelle’s disappointment; she was usually the one to wake up first but was not particularly displeased by the food provided. Olivier had woken up last, looking like he hadn’t gotten enough sleep in the last week to compensate for what he’d been doing. They hadn’t said anything except the standard morning greetings, still unsure of each other’s boundaries.

They’d all been sitting at the table, focused on their respective activities. Emmanuelle was in the middle of designing an upgrade to one of her drones, and she could only assume Gustave was doing paperwork as he always did; Olivier was harder to figure out, as his typing was slower than normal and his screen was impossible to see at the angle she was at. She had looked down to reorganize her notes and was in the middle of her erasing when she realized the typing had stopped.

The clatter got both her attention and Gustave to look up, only to see a baffled and confused Olivier sitting up and away from his plate. It took a moment to piece together what had happened, that he’d fallen asleep trying to eat and work at the same time. She tried hard to process the proper response, mixed between concern and worry before she found herself laughing at the poor man’s confusion. It wasn’t long before Gustave and Olivier joined in on the laughter, Olivier looking almost pained as he got up to get a napkin and wipe off his face.

“Are you  _ okay _ ?” she asked once she had her breath back. “Syrup in the  _ eyebrows _ has got to suck.”

“Oh, I’m fine, probably,” the blonde replied, sounding much less than fine. “No worse than whiskey in the sinuses.”

“Whiskey in the  _ what- _ ” Gustave looked like he was both alarmed and about to laugh again.

“Okay, when I was… I want to say seventeen,” Olivier started, wiping off his face. “I was not in the best of ways and so I snuck off with a couple of guys I thought were friends. Well, I hadn’t really had anything stronger than wine and watered-down beer, so they offered me some whiskey. In the middle of my first drink, this dumbass tells a joke I start to laugh at-”

“Oh  _ no _ ,” Emmanuelle said, immediately realizing what happened. Olivier laughed through his nose.

“Oh yes. A solid hour of regretting ever touching whiskey. Haven’t touched it since,” he finished, shaking his head. “I was not the most intelligent of teenagers.”

Emmanuelle shook her head, suppressing more laughter. She looked over at the doctor, who had his face in his hands and was audibly restraining himself; Olivier finished wiping his face completely off and yawned. 

“That’s honestly not the worst of my stories,” the blonde admitted. “Probably one of the tamer ones.”

“Good lord,” she replied, trying not to pry. “I never took you for a rowdy teenager.”

“You don’t know half of it. Honestly,  _ I _ don’t know half of it. It’s mostly stories I heard about myself.”

Gustave looked up from his hands and gave Olivier a look torn between absolutely baffled and mildly impressed. “How are you even remotely alive?”

“I have, and I mean this with all the sincerity I can muster, no idea.”

The three of them went quiet for a moment, trying to return to their activities. It didn’t take too long before she heard Olivier’s typing stop again and Gustave slid his chair out; she looked up to see the doctor putting the blonde’s arm over his shoulders and pulling him to his feet. Olivier had fallen asleep typing again, and probably would have fallen into his food again if he hadn’t been stopped.

“Would you mind getting his door, Emma?” 

“Of course, Kateb,” she replied, getting out of her chair and moving to help the doctor get the larger man to his room. Through the hall and to the door emblazoned with the CBRN icon, which Emmanuelle opened for Gustave. With some effort, the older man managed to get the exhausted operative into bed before exiting the room.

“I keep forgetting that man is human,” Gustave murmured. “In all of our fights, it’s easy to think of him as something else.”

“I don’t know,” Emmanuelle replied, tone quiet as she looked at the now-closed door. “I think I like the human side of him a little more than the soldier side.”

Gustave looked at the door, and then to her. “I think I may agree with you. Come, let’s finish breakfast and let the others know they’re down a training partner today.”

She nodded, following the doctor back down the hall. She set Olivier’s laptop on the communal charger, leaving it open so it wouldn’t lose whatever he was working on, before sitting back down and going back to her designs. 

Maybe it wouldn’t be so quiet anymore.


	2. Nights Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dokkaebi tries to convince Mute to go out with the rest of the techies.

There was one very nice thing about having a new base in Greece, and that was the massive armory lockers that everyone could personalize for themselves. It had taken a while, but after a long conversation with Harry about the security risks of splitting Team Rainbow as badly as he had intended, the entire team was located on-site. Everyone had, for the most part, divided themselves up as they had in the dormitories; defaulting to cluster together with familiarity and be next to someone they knew or trusted.

Grace had been looking for Mike at first but, upon finding the old man wasn’t in his locker and was reportedly not in his room, had defaulted to finding Mark instead. She’d passed his armory locker twice now and had asked the other SAS members where he’d gone off to only to get shrugs from both men. She was making her way back to her own cage when she heard a familiar alarm tone from the youngest operator’s locker. It was dark, and so she hadn’t seen him before; Mark was coming out from under his desk and using his remote to turn the lights on. 

She waited outside the door, watching him get up and stretch himself out. She could see he’d already pulled his face mask on, though he’d left his hoodie off and so she could see his mess of brown hair. She’d always wondered what it looked like when he hadn’t combed it yet, considering she’d only ever seen him with his hood or in the brief time between changing from civilian clothes to their uniforms, and it was usually combed by then.

She waited until he was standing and had taken a drink of his probably cold coffee before she knocked. He looked up like a deer in headlights, blinking at her for a moment before raising a hand and waving to her.

“Any chance I can come in, or are you a little too busy for that?” She gave him a smile, to which he rolled his eyes and clicked his remote; she heard the door click open, and had to wonder how long it took for him to set it up to be so seamless. She pushed the door open, stepping inside with an apologetic laugh before moving to sit at the second chair at his desk; she was aware it was usually used as a footrest, but this also wasn’t a usual scenario.

He moved his hands for a second; moving in a way that she recognized meant he was trying to string his words together before he spoke them. It was one of the only ways to tell that he was genuinely tired, though he tried not to make enough of a habit of it to be noticed regularly.

“Sorry, Grace. Didn’t think you’d come knocking or I’d have kept the light on.” He  _ sounded _ tired, even as he opened his laptop and entered the password by memory.

“It’s fiiine,” she replied, dragging out the vowel. “What are you even doing that made you sleep under your desk?”

“Almost cracked the counter hack, I think,” the engineer sighed. “I’ve run it five times in the last twenty four hours and I get closer every time. Your code is ridiculously airtight.”

“That’s the  _ point _ ,” she quipped back, laughing between her words. She shook her head, staring at the younger operator as he rubbed his face through his face mask. She couldn’t help but admire his determination to win this digital arms race and the fact he’d kept pace with her to the point she’d been forced to evolve her coding. 

He shook his head as if to wake himself up, turning away to pull his mask down and take another drink of coffee before turning back to her. She was never sure if he was just that secretive, or if he didn’t like his own face - no matter how or when she caught him, he always had most of his face covered and usually had a hoodie on. 

“So, uh, what’s the issue?” He gave her a look that was a mix of exhausted and concerned. “Someone break tech again? Did Mike piss you off?”

“Oh, no, it’s just,” she paused, trying to figure out how to phrase this. “The techies are having a night off. I’ve already got Enatsu, Pichon, and Álvarez in on it, and I’m working on getting Weiss and Goose to join us. I know you aren’t the best with social situations, but I thought hey! Even if you don’t come with us, you might like the invitation.”

Mark stared at her, as if trying to piece together the request in a way that made sense to him. He took a deep breath before breaking out into a weak laugh, a sign he had at least processed the request and wasn’t sure how to respond. He blinked several times, looking down at his screen and shaking his head.

“I’m not the best company,” he said after what felt like hours. “You’d have more fun without me.”

“That’s not true,” she objected. “You’re great, Mark, you’re just…”

“Harsh? Brash? Rude?” Mark gave her a look of frustration, barely hinted at in his eyes. She struggled reading him, given that his expressions were usually masked, but this was plain on his face. “I’ve heard it all. Even from Six. Both, in fact. I’m not a pleasant person to be around, Grace. Even when I try to be. Even Seamus and James say I’m a bit much when I open my mouth.” 

She bit her lip. He wasn’t entirely wrong, but it didn’t change how she wanted to bring him along. “Do you at least want something from the pub?”

“Yeah, sure. Just some chips, if you could.” He didn’t look up. She wondered if she saw something bitter in his eyes, or if she was imagining it. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine, Mark. Seriously.” She reached, hesitating on touching his arm and instead patting the desk. “I’ll call you after, okay? That way you can tell me what you want and I can get it to go.”

He nodded, sighing quietly. It was clear enough that she wasn’t going to get anything more out of him, so she stood up to leave instead. She watched him for a minute as she moved away, opening the gate door with a final glance to him; he lifted his remote and clicked the light off as she closed the door, not taking his eyes off the laptop screen.

She bit the inside of her cheek as she walked away. Maybe one day she’d convince him - he was stubborn, but so was she. He couldn’t close everyone off forever… She hoped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Doki is a big sister vibe  
> Mute is a bastard


	3. Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thermite and Pulse get to talk on the way home from a mission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> friends are friends and i will fight Ubisoft myself to preserve their friendship

“Now wait a damn second,” Jack said, holding up a hand. “Are you telling me you’re straight up a Texan cowboy?”

Jordan snickered to himself as he slid the glass between his hands. “Yeah. Dad wanted me to learn how to ride a horse because, and I shit you not, he thinks horses are more reliable than cars.”

Jack shook his head, turning his head to look to the side. They’d completed a successful extraction mission only hours ago and had decided as a team to celebrate with alcohol at high altitude. It was probably a terrible idea, considering that Monika and Liu were giggly drunks and Mei Lin was a foul-mouthed disaster after two drinks, but they’d ended up doing so anyway. He could see and partially hear Monika and Mei Lin giggling incoherently over something and Liu shaking his head disapprovingly.

“I’ll be damned. I knew you were Texan, but not that Texan,” Jack snorted, looking back to the older man. His eyes got drawn back to the hands and forearms that were scarred and disfigured from years of working with explosives with no protection. He’d watched Jordan play with thermite and gunpowder in the lab like a kid playing with sand at the beach, and yet still worried about the technician’s hands.

“What if I told you I’ve got a cowboy hat in my locker?” Jordan snorted before lifting the glass and downing the drink in one gulp. He set it back down with a laugh and a roll of his eyes. “Mike says it looks fuckin’ ridiculous and then walks out lookin’ like a proper old West sheriff without the hat.”

“Really? Goddamn.” He lifted his drink to his lips.

“You gonna keep staring at my hands or you gonna say something?”

Jack sputtered into his drink, having to put it down and turn away to cough. He caught his breath again and looked at Jordan with a mix of alarm and confusion. “I, you know, it’s just…”

The older man shrugged with a half-cocked grin. “Go on. You can’t yell at me like Liza does, honest.”

He shook his head. “God, Jordan. Your hands look like what would happen if someone reached into acid and let them sit there for five minutes. How do you deal with, well, the touch? Or handling shit? I know you don’t always feel it when you’re touching something and it’s just… how do you  _ work _ like that?”

“A fuck ton of patience and awareness of my own body,” Jordan admitted, face twinging in a way that Jack, alarmingly, couldn’t recognize on his friend. “Tell ya what, I’ll talk if you get that bottle and pour me another.”

“Alright, alright, fine,” the younger man sighed, turning around to grab the bottle they’d been sharing before pouring Jordan another glass. “You’re incredibly good at staying sober.”

“Not as good as Basuda. Ever seen a man put down half a bottle of Everclear and still look and speak like a completely sober human being? It’s a goddamn miracle that man’s alive, let alone the fact he's still got a liver.”

“You… have a point,” Jack laughed. “Aight, cough it up. I gotta know how you do it.”

“Alright,” Jordan sighed, before taking half a drink from his glass and setting it back down, returning to bouncing it between his hands. “So most people just kind of go about their daily lives without thinking about their body, right? You breathe, walk, look around, eat and drink without thinking about it.”

“Well, yeah. Those are all natural functions,” Jack replied, shrugging as he topped off his own glass. “Things we do every day.”

“I can’t do that,” Jordan stated, one of those half-hearted smiles breaking out on his face. Jack knew it as the expression Jordan defaulted to when discussing a truth he didn’t like. “I have to think about my hands when I use them for just about anything. Typing, firing, mixing, using utensils. Hell, I even have to think about the way I’m picking up my glass so I can be sure I’m using all of my fingers instead of just the ones I can feel. It’s normal for me now, just something else to think about, but to most folks, it’s weird as shit.”

“ _ All the time? _ ” The Carolinian couldn’t help his baffled response. “Fuck, even in a firefight?”

“Yep, even then. Part of why I stay in the back of the unit and rely so heavily on the rest of my team to clear ahead of me.” He shook his head. “Covering flank is easier because it’s easier to see when shit’s been messed with when you’ve already passed it.”

Jack leaned back, trying to process the information. He looked at his own hands, trying to think about each one individually and realizing that it was like trying to breathe manually; both incredibly alarming and disturbingly difficult to do on command. He felt a twinge of mixed pity and respect before shaking his head and lifting his gaze back to the chemist.

“How the hell can you do that all day every day? I can’t even do it now.”

“Practice, necessity. It’s like El Maktoub and her missing fingers, except I have to think about all of mine, I guess?” He shrugged, before taking another drink and looking disappointed at the empty glass. “It’s not really hard anymore, just kind of a hassle. Like how you have to starch your clothes every morning or do the dishes.”

Jack shook his head again. “Still can’t do it. You’re one hell of an agent, Jordan.”

“Nah, just a really, really tired cowboy who doesn’t want to leave the service yet.” He shrugged again, playing with the glass in his hands. “Too much to do, no reason to leave, good reasons to stay.”

“Like the fact you’ve got eye candy in the SAS and don’t want to lose your view?”

Jack narrowly avoided the jacket thrown at him from across the table before bursting into laughter. Jordan reached over with a sour, though playful expression to snatch the bottle; though he knew the flush on the older man’s face was definitely not alcohol-born, he would let it slide. He watched his friend pour another glass of alcohol before leaning forward again, a smile on his face.

“So, about those horses-”

“Jack, let me get a little drunker before I tell you about Charger bucking me into a ravine.”

“Alright, fine, but you gotta tell me that one specifically now.”

“Fuuuuuuck, fiiiiiiiine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ubi please give Thermite some gloves


	4. Talks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thatcher and Dokkaebi chat about why Thatcher's so concerned.

Mike bounced his heel as he waited for Grace to come out of the armory locker. He hadn’t been on the simulation today, but he’d known the hacker would be present due to her long-standing rivalry with Mark and the fact he was on the simulation roster for the day. She’d gone in almost an hour ago, covered in chalk from what he could only assume was one of Basuda’s EDDs given the fact it was plastered entirely on one side.

When the door creaked open, he looked over and gave her a once over. She’d gotten her body armor off, now only in the long-sleeved undershirt and the chalky pants she wore with her typical uniform. She gave him a foul look that was a mix of contempt and frustration, barely giving him a glance before turning away with a toss of her hair. 

Mike rolled his eyes and shook his head as he sighed. “Hold on a second, Grace.”

“Why, so you can give me another lecture about lag?” She turned, folding her arms and letting her weight fall against the cage wall. She looked like she’d had enough of his presence as it was, and he’d barely said five words.

“I wanted to talk to you. About… That, yeah.” 

“I’m getting rid of the lag. It’s just taking time-”

“Your tech’s fine.”

She sputtered, words failing her as her eyes widened. Mike could see the gears turning in her head, the furrow of her brows speaking to her concern and confusion. She gave him a look of incredulous disbelief before reaching over and pressing the back of her hand to his forehead, which he waved away with a grumble.

“‘M not sick. I mean it. As a tool, your tech is fine- fantastic, even, if you use it right.” He shook his head. “It’s not the tech I get frustrated with when it comes to you.”

“Then what is it?” She blinked, still clearly reeling.

“The fact you seem to use it as a crutch. And let me frame this before you go and get mad like I know you do,” he said, waving her immediate indignance down. “Listen. I’ve worked with Mark for a while now, and he doesn’t crutch himself on that tech of his. I’ve worked with most of the team for nearly five years now, and a lot of the original members of the team don’t crutch on their tech. Exceptions exist - I still don’t think Estrada could manage without that damn sensor some days - but then people like you came along.”

“Is this going to get racist? I feel like-”

He gave her a deadpan look, to which she immediately began to crack a smile and shrug. “No. Not really. Most of the new members rely on their tech to an almost painful point and it concerns me. Enatsu and his Yokai, Ramirez and that damn Eyenox, Meghan’s got those Black Eyes everywhere. It was fine, it was, and then somehow it just got… so bad. Evil Eyes and Prismas, EE-One-Ds and fucking shooting electric currents at people through a goddamn shield.”

Her eyes widened again and her face fell as she looked to the side, before nodding. “I don’t say it often, but Nøkk concerns me sometimes. So does Collinn.”

“Think of that concern, but with you.”

“But why me?”

He shook his head. “Because you’re better than that.”

She stared without responding, clearly disarmed entirely. She no longer looked upset, but rather befuddled and as though she was trying to understand what he was saying.

“I know you can do this  _ without _ that logic bomb. I know you can because I’ve seen you do it, but instead of trusting your gut, you default to waiting when we might not have those two seconds. I don’t want you to end up using that as a crutch when I have seen your instinct work just as well. You are, by all means,  _ brilliant _ . I’ve seen you and Mark going at it with coding and it’s like watching an arms race take place at the dinner table in the span of an hour, but when they end up wiping out your Logic Bomb with either an EMP or shooting out that tablet, I’m worried you’ll end up on the wrong side of a bullet because you doubt yourself.”

She stared at him, understanding starting to dawn on her face as she slowly inhaled. She blinked, before sheepishly looking down and biting her lip. She’d turned pink, but whether with embarrassment or frustration he couldn’t tell.

“You’re a good operative, Grace. You’re intense, you’re intelligent, you can keep up with the rest of us. Your biggest flaw is that you hesitate on your own instinct and that can get you killed.”

She sighed, shaking her head. “Okay, okay. I get it. You’re not totally wrong. A dick about how you express yourself, but not wrong. I just wish you weren’t such an ass about it.”

“If I wasn’t an arse, there’d be a bigger problem on our hands,” he replied with a tired smile. “Six - sorry, bloody Harry - told me you’d been upset by how I acted. Thought I’d come to explain myself before it interfered on an actual mission.”

She smiled back, a little more confident than she had been when they first started this conversation. “Alright, then, Mike. Why don’t we go get some food in the cafeteria and get some food, and we can talk about why you’re totally wrong about how much I rely on my tech there?”

“Ah, fine, but you’re going to have to put your best foot forward to convince me.”

“Bet on it.”

He lifted himself off the wall, following her as she led the way to the cafeteria. He'd tried to explain himself as best he could, though he wondered if he'd made any real impact; the fact she'd even admitted she was reliant on the tech had eased his worry enough to relax. It wasn't the best solution, and he wondered if the younger woman would heed his worries of overreliance. He shook his head, clearing his worries away as he caught the smell of dinner and the sound of bickering agents reached him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cackles incoherently  
> thatcher is basically team dad


	5. Ink and Flowers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jäger sees Kapkan's tattoos for the first time. He's curious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not at all shippy. jager is a curious man

Showers were either packed full or near empty at any hour of the day. Typically, after about seven in the evening, the showers would clear out and everyone would go back to their rooms for recreation and socialization. They’d be empty or relatively so until around six the next morning when those who liked morning showers decided to get up and collectively use the hot water before the R&D department got running again.

So when he walked in at nearly midnight and found Maxim in the middle of drying off, Marius almost backpedaled into the wall as he clutched his night clothes. He recognized the man by the stature and the posture, even from behind. He was already partially dressed, pants and belt already on - was he going for a jog? A belt didn't seem necessary for bed - and was in the middle of properly drying his hair. Marius stared at him for a moment, taking in the sight before wandering down to Maxim's back.

Marius suddenly realized he had never seen Maxim’s back bare. He was covered in ink, all black outlines of varied flowers that stood out against pale skin; Marius tried to find where one flower began and another ended, tracing lines with his eyes and furrowing his brows in curiosity as he tried to figure out what flowers they were. They were ornate and very well done, and if he knew anything about tattoos from Dominic, it had likely taken weeks to complete all of them. He could even see where they had to get properly redone over the scarring from Operation Chimera, though it was difficult to pinpoint exactly where it was if you didn’t know where he’d been impaled.

"Are you going to keep staring or take a picture, Streicher?" The Russian's voice shocked him out of his examination, causing him to sputter for a moment before laughing awkwardly. He glanced up and saw the man had only barely turned his head; he was not sure if Maxim was being distant or if he was simply exhausted.

"Apologies, Basuda," Marius replied. "I have never seen your back before, the flowers took me by surprise. What are they?" 

"The flowers or the meanings," Maxim asked in response, tone still flat as he turned enough to look at Marius. 

The pilot internally winced at how tired the hunter looked, dark circles under his eyes no longer hidden by face paint. A burn scar on the left of his face marred his cheekbone and temple, causing that side to look even worse off. Marius had a silent moment of reverence as he took in the sight; it was not the first nor the last time he’d see the hunter’s face, but he wore the scars of old operations well. 

"Both, if it's not totally uncomfortable? They are beautiful," the pilot replied, quietly taking a seat on a neighboring bench and setting his night clothes to the side. 

"The rose is my mother, the lily my father," Maxim replied with a gentle shrug. "The twin orchids are my brothers. Senaviev is the daffodil, Kessikbayev is the tulip, Melnikova is the violet. Glazkov asked specifically for the forget-me-not." 

Marius blinked. "They are symbols?" 

"Do you know how Brunsmeier has names on his upper arm? My flowers are the same. I feel uncomfortable sharing their names on my body, so instead, I chose to use flowers." He shrugged. "Keeps them safe and gives me comfort." 

Marius smiled, a warm feeling blooming in his chest. He wasn't entirely sure why, but he had somehow just assumed the gruff man had very few actual attachments. "I wouldn't have guessed Melnikova to have a place among them." 

"She hides what she must hide, but I do value her. She saved my life during Operation Chimera, and has proven to be a close friend ever since." 

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Sorry to keep bothering you, but, before you finish getting dressed and head off to wherever you're going? Where do you get them done?" 

"Back home," Maxim replied with a small wave of his hand. "If you wish to go back with us one day, I can introduce you." 

Marius waved his hands, flustered. "Oh, no, you don't have to do that! I'm sure they would be annoyed with an international client anyway-" 

Marius stuttered to a halt when he saw the ghost of a smile cross Maxim's face. The man rarely smiled, much less so kindly; the hunter shook his head as he finished drying his hair and tossed the towel onto his bench. He watched Maxim pull the long-sleeved telnyashka over his head, the designs on his skin disappearing as he tugged it down. Marius chewed his cheek as the Russian stood and stretched, feeling slightly like he’d been annoying.

“Lebedev would love an international client,” Maxim stated, tone gentle. “Let me know if you’d like to talk to her. I’ll see you tomorrow for the simulation, Streicher.”

The pilot nodded, giving a sheepish smile to the hunter as the man left. He waited until the Russian had turned the corner before finally exhaling; the anxiety he’d had over trying to talk to the normally intense, mildly terrifying man had unraveled into relief. Maxim wasn't the easiest to talk to, nor could he be called easy to read, but he was honest to a point with his teammates. 

Marius realized only after his alarm went off that it was now thirty minutes past midnight and he’d failed to do what he’d intended to do in the first place. He scrambled to get into the showers, internally berating himself for taking so long to do something so simple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kapkan the secret softie  
> Has a very gentle heart  
> If you ever hurt his family  
> He's gonna tear you apart
> 
> \- courtesy of me explaining kapkan to my friend at 3:30 a.m.


End file.
